


The Bed Sheets were Green

by DarkestHeir



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Child Abuse, Incest, M/M, Molestation, Parent/Child Incest, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21593425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestHeir/pseuds/DarkestHeir
Summary: And the Moon was full and Joxter's eyes were blue and his fingers were cold and Snufkin died
Relationships: Joxaren | The Joxter/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	The Bed Sheets were Green

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to god if you don't listen to the tags I will stomp you to death with my hooves.  
> 

It was relatively late by the time Snufkin had gotten into bed. He played all day like he loved doing. With his brothers and sisters of many numerous forms and being held by his mother when he got too dirty. She always carefully wiped away his face from any dirt there, fixed his hair, sent him off. 

The morning had started off loud as always. Kids waking up filled with energy and poor little Snufkin going to find a place at the table before the rest of them could. Sitting with a wide smile and so successful as his little feet stood upon the chair he deemed his throne. The food was good, life was good, and when Snufkin jumped off the chair to find a place to call his own that afternoon it all felt so hopeful.

The bugs were alive, the birds were singing a mockery of his tune, of which he repeated to the trees that surrounded him. All with a shiny golden harmonica his father had brought back home one evening. 

Snufkin was so excited to see him again, his daddy left all day and came back a few times a week. Sometimes he smelled of something icky and strong, sweat or dirt, but the scent of tobacco always followed him. Not strong despite his pipe at hand every time Snufkin saw those icy blue eyes underneath the brim of his hat.

The color of blood stained dirt; Snufkin would later this realize as he lay staring up at the sky on a sleepless night. 

For now he was excited, climbing the tree and stood upon the branch that could hold all of his youthful boyish joy. Snufkin determined that his father was coming home today. 

And home he came. 

His older sisters were corralling the children to their beds, including him, but he refused and stood his ground. Pouting a bit, despite his age, but it worked. They were far too busy with the rest of them to be bothered with such a stubborn boy. Snufkin was proud, and when Joxter came home with a signature smile and that sour smell he could hardly contain himself.

Could hardly stop his feet from hitting the ground and running up to his father, always so much taller than him! The boy could barely reach his stomach, but it was all remedied as Joxter scooped him right up. His father was home, the night wasn’t cold, and it was perfect. Life was wonderful, he was excited to live and hug his dad’s face.

Snufkin was satisfied with that, pattering off to his bed when Joxter put him down and began to talk to his mom. He shared his room with many younger children. They refused bed but fell asleep like logs which he liked, they didn’t bother him and it’s all he wanted. Something else distubed his sleep tonight however, the feeling of a much bigger body dipping into his bed.

“Daddy?” Snufkin asked, confused and bleary. Joxter hummed in returned, his hair mused and the strong smell still staining his hands and mouth. It didn’t bother him as Joxter curled up at the foot of his bed, still and awake. He didn’t think anything of it, after all how could he have known? 

How could he have known? He would ask himself this question for years, and simultaneously berating himself for the blind trust (but aren't you supposed to trust your father?). It didn’t matter did it, he would continue, it never will. 

There was no rest for Snufkin when Joxter originally woke him up. As silent as ever, Snufkin swore the bed didn’t even creak! It was certainly peculiar that Joxter was in his bed; he had never done this. There was no reason for suspicion; Snufkin was just happy Joxter was here with him.

He felt safe, secure enough that he began to fall asleep again. Snufkin cuddled a bear against his chest, smiling to himself, and maybe he fell asleep for a while. Who knows how much time had passed, but suddenly something woke him up. Something was between his legs, pushing. 

Snufkin froze, what was happening?

It was insisting, nudging and rubbing in small circles right against him. Snufkin never opened his eyes, and maybe if he had it would have stopped there. He was far too scared when it stopped, and far too scared when he felt his father shift up. The whole world was holding its breath when Joxter stood. Snufkin could feel him looming over him, and his vision darkened where Joxter blocked out the light glow of the moon in the window.

His hands were cold, much colder than Snufkin thought possible. Fingers cold as the dead, the fur sharp like pine, or maybe that was how he simply thought of it. Invading his space, pushing his shirt up, and then they rubbed against his nipple. Sensitive little things, unused to touch, perked right beneath a few circular drags. The pad of his thumb depressing one before moving to the other.

Where had the warm night gone? Snufkin wasn’t sure, his frail body felt hollow, and his eyes refused to listen now. They were closed, his breath was soft as if he was still asleep. He couldn’t feel his feet, but he could feel something else. 

Heat, wet heat, ghosting over his sternum. Slick with spit, yet somehow still rough like a broken rock dragged a line up his chest. 

The moment the spit settled on Snufkin’s skin he hoped it would burn like ice, but it was warm. It was warmer still when lips wrapped around his chest and began to gently suck. No teeth, hardly any tongue, and when there was some it was the soft heated underside. 

Snufkin could feel his body reacting, and if Snufkin ever thought he hated something before he greatly underestimated his own skin. The stirring between his legs wasn’t foriegn to him. He’s felt it before, felt it and stroked it in his own private time. Alone, it was special, alone.

Joxter stood back up, back straight, or at least straight enough to get his mouth away from Snufkin’s decaying flesh. That’s what it felt like after all, somewhere along the line Snufkin stopped feeling his fingers. 

His body was being taken from him; he didn’t know what to think about it in the moment but that’s what it was. That’s what it felt like. That’s what it felt like when Joxter’s fingers, slowly warming, found their way underneath the waistband of his pants. He knew what he wanted, Joxter tended to. His fingers pushed that down too for better access, and now Snufkin’s lower half was no longer his.

Snufkin desperately wanted it to stop. He wasn’t sure what his father was doing but he wanted it to stop. Now he sits up at night and hoped he died instead. That his father was violent too and maybe it could have all ended there. It didn’t.

Joxter was careful with Snufkin, as if he might have broken. As if Snufkin’s body wasn’t already crushed underneath his hands, lips, of which returned to his chest soon after.

It was repetitive, it felt good, dulled sense of pleasure echoing back to Snufkin’s sealed mouth. 

It was also a lifetime of fingers carefully wrapping around Snufkin, stroking and pulling back a bit too hard. It should have hurt, but all he could think of was the insisting scratch of Joxter’s scruff. Mouth working and leaving sticky trails of spit. 

When it inevitably ended Snufkin wasn’t sure. But it ended. 

Joxter placed his shirt back down, the old ragged cloth sticking to Snufkin’s chest. Cruel fingers sliding away. He didn’t pull up his pants, but instead Joxter turned and walked out, the door opening with a single creak and unclosed.

His first reaction was to turn onto his stomach. On his stomach nothing could be touched. Not his chest, not his special parts between his legs. Nothing, he was safe, eyes still closed he was safe. 

Only Joxter came back, and the world merely continued burning. Maybe he had gone to the restroom, but what else could he want when Snufkin was on his back? A hand trailed over Snufkin’s bare ass, soft and warm Joxter would note to himself. Then Snufkin made a noise of distress finally, a sound that he was awake.

Joxter paused, pulling up Snufkin’s pants after a few moments of indecisiveness and then simply sat himself down. He was staring off into the distance as Snufkin sat up. Snufkin wasn’t crying, he just was, he existed. The teddy bear still firm in his grip, Snufkin wondered if he had ever let it go.

“Don’t tell your mother.” and with that Joxter left his shared room. His shared room where all his siblings still slept and he didn’t go to sleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, if you have any suggestions to fix it you're more than welcome to tell me!


End file.
